"Forever, if necessary," she returned, but then spoke softly. "George, don't be vexed with me. What else can I do?"
She was earnest; he saw there no other way for her. "Let me help, then," he said, and told her more about the school. In her questions and comments he saw her interest in the future, her curiosity as to the life she was about to lead. In spite of all that had passed, in spite of the new deceptive softness, the old idea still held and ruled her: she would be in touch with things, would know what was going on in the world.
In her new home, little lessons began to come to Judith. Pease was a revelation of kindliness and ability—a contradiction. That such simplicity could cover such power, that he could set up an inflexible opinion against hers and yet be embarrassed in her presence, was strange, yet very pleasing. Miss Cynthia with her violent manners was another source of knowledge, for this odd person was a woman of the world; she had experience and importance; she corresponded with philanthropists, and people of note came to see her. And Judith gained from her this lesson: that from a quiet home one may extend a wide influence, and be of the world while not at all times in it. Thus the two Peases, with their individuality, did much to show Judith that there was force still remaining in the old families which she had rated so low. She grew to have a little fear of Miss Pease, with her searching questions and blunt comments, lest she should inquire into Judith's interest in Ellis, and with that cutting tongue lay bare her folly. And yet at the same time Judith took comfort in Miss Cynthia, who upheld her in her plans. Miss Cynthia had worked for her living, and declared that it did a woman good.
But the strongest new influence on Judith was in her relations with Beth. Judith had always recognised Beth's strength. A feminine fortitude, not disdaining tears; a perception of worldly values which Judith was coming to see was clearer than her own; steadfastness and charity: these were the qualities which had brought Beth through the recent crisis with less actual change than in her sister. And Judith, beginning to admire in Beth the traits which previously she had merely noted, found also a great comfort in her sister's girlishness, a solace in her softer nature which was to Judith the beginning of the possibilities of friendship.
For, save with Ellis, Judith had never spoken freely, and with him but little. At the same time she had never been lonely, turning from friends. Yet in this changed life she took pleasure in Beth's nearness, interested herself in her doings, and invited her confidences. She grew jealous lest Miss Cynthia, so long Beth's friend, should take the place which belonged to her; and so by gentleness Judith won from Beth the story which weighed on her mind.
It was one evening when the sisters had gone up-stairs; Judith went into Beth's room. Beth, with her sadness so well controlled, seemed sweeter than she had ever been. She had grown pale over her books. "If you go to your school," she said when Judith remonstrated with her, "why shouldn't I work, too?" But she was often weary at the end of the day, and seemed so now.
"Beth," said Judith, "I saw Mrs. Wayne to-day. She was looking better. George has found a buyer for her house, and she is going to live with some cousins."
"I am very glad that is settled so well," answered Beth, and then asked with hesitation: "Has anything been heard from—Jim?"
"Nothing," replied Judith. "Beth, are you worrying about him?"
"No," Beth said. "I—I am sorry for him, but——" She looked up. "Oh, Judith, I want to speak to some one about it. There is a part of it that no one knows. May I tell you?"